


Yarrow & Feverfew

by GeneralHuxNeedsRest



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:47:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22038043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralHuxNeedsRest/pseuds/GeneralHuxNeedsRest
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are on the road, when Jaskier begins to feeling unwell. Just a classic sickfic, you guys know what you like.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 979





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After like six years of flirting with the Witcher, it was the Netflx series that finally got me. So, I am now on a way of reading the books (again, cause I never got further than the second one) and I am enjoying it.  
> Story is a classic sickfic, English is not my native language, so, sorry for the mistakes. I mean, I am an English major, but at the moment, I am too tired and too tipsy to edit.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> (also, come talk to me on tumblr: interpretrainee-gal is my name)

They were on a way to a village where a demon was supposed to be possessing people, when Geralt noticed that there was something not quite right with Jaskier. His otherwise overly talkative companion was quiet and sullen, and he hadn’t touched his lute since the previous morning, when they left a tavern they lived in for the last few days.   
He didn’t ask; he was not good at asking, but he made sure to keep an extra attentive eye on Jaskier and helped him into the saddle when he seemed too tired to put one foot in front of the other. The bard murmured a barely audible “thank you” and when he put his hands around Geralt´s chest to keep himself upright, the witcher noticed the heat radiating from his body and frowned. 

Now, witchers were not known for their kindness or being mindful of the other´s needs (besides killing beats, of course) but when the evening finally came and the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Geralt stopped Roach. 

“That´s enough for today,” he said. “We´ll rest here.” 

Jaskier must have been surprised – Geralt never stopped this early, and most certainly not willingly – but he hadn´t said anything. Geralt was grateful. If there was anything he didn’t like, if was people openly and overly expressing their gratitude. He never knew what to do with them. Unless they chose to express it in coins, of course.

He helped Jaskier from the saddle and noticed that he seemed to be getting worse. His eyes were too bright, and he staggered a little. Geralt made him sit down on a tree stump. He started a small fire with the sticks and dry leaves he found around and then finally decided to address the issue at hand. 

“When did you start feeling sick?” he asked plainly.

Jaskier didn’t even try to deny it. “Last evening,” he said. “I thought it would pass. I didn’t want to alarm you.”

Jaskier? Not wanting to alarm him? That didn’t seem right. Jaskier has never been shy to express his discomfort before.

Ah. 

Yes. 

He could still remember the hurt expression on the bard´s face as he said those words. Fuck.

He grunted. “Stay here,” he said, “I´m going to get some wood. And find something to eat.”

Jaskier shook his head and held one hand protectively around his stomach. “Ugh, don’t bother getting too much,” he said. “I´m not sure I will be able to eat anything tonight.”

Geralt just nodded. When they were leaving the last village, he heard some people talking about a nasty sickness that was beginning to spread among them. He hoped what Jaskier had was a simple cold and hadn’t contracted any serious ailment. 

He retrieved a spare blanket from his saddle bag and tossed it around the bard´s shoulders before leaving. 

Not even half an hour later, Geralt found himself with two hares hanging from his belt, enough wood for the night and even some nuts and berries he thought Jaskier would like. It seemed that things were going far too well, and he was getting worried of what he might find upon returning to the bard. 

Humans were too fragile, he had a chance to found out many times, some more than the others, and Jaskier, who was sometimes unable to pick up a sword without hurting himself, belonged to the first group. 

Thank gods or whatever, but when he came back, Jaskier was sitting on the tree stump, in almost the exact same position as he has left him. But his eyes were glassy and he didn´t seem to register Geralt´s return until the Witcher landed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Jaskier,” he said.

The bard looked at him with fearful eyes and Geralt finally noticed the unnatural pallor of his skin and the even more unnatural pink colour high on his cheeks. Breathing seemed to be a problem, too; Jaskier´s breaths were quick and shallow. 

“Fuck,” Geralt said and kneeled next to the bard. “What hurts?” He put his hand to Jaskier´s forehead, his cheeks, his neck. No, no, no. It was too bad.

“My throat is killing me,” he answered. “And the rest is just kinda blurring all together, into a big ball of pain.”

“Oh, great.” The demon will have to wait. It´s not like it will stop whatever it´s doing and just leave on its own, anyway. He sat down next to Jaskier with a grunt and tossed some wood into the fire. Its light made Jaskier look even more sickly.

The nearest village was pretty far, the ride would take them almost the whole night and it would probably make Jaskier even more tired, but he couldn´t risk him getting even worse in the middle of nowhere. Choices, choices. 

Jaskier was hunching over more and more, too tired to keep himself upright. He´ll give him a few more hours and then he´ll see. 

He took his own bedroll and put it on the ground, as close to the fire as possible. “Lay down,” he told Jaskier and when the bard was too slow to move, he simply moved him himself. The bard, too surprised and sick to react let himself be manhandled and watched Geralt, the blue eyes open wide and too bright. 

“Stay,” Geralt grunted and fought the urge to rest his hand on Jaskier´s forehead. “I won´t go far. Won´t be too long.” 

When he was picking up the wood and hunting for food, he noticed quite a few places covered in yarrow; the not so pleasantly-smelling flower often helped those with high fevers. He hoped it would help his bard as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, it´s short. The last one will be longer and have plenty of cute fluffiness.  
> Also, happy new year, guys.

When he was picking up the wood and hunting for food, he noticed quite a few places covered in yarrow; the not so pleasantly-smelling flower often helped those with high fevers. He hoped it would help his bard as well.

He was in luck. Picking up yarrow, he stumbled upon feverfew, its delicate white flowers closed for the night and he hadn´t even had to wander far from the fire, where Jaskier was resting – when he listened hard, his heightened senses were able to make out the sounds of the bard´s breathing. Quickly, he picked up as many flowers as he could and made his way back.

  
While Geralt worked, Jaskier fell into an uneasy sleep and when the herb concoction was finally finished, it was hard to wake him up, which worried the witcher.

  
“Wha…” Jaskier started in a raspy breath. It reminded Geralt of the djinn and the wild ride for help, while the bard was coughing and suffocating on his own blood.

  
Geralt put his hand under Jaskier´s neck and helped him sit up, trying to be as gentle as he could. “It´s for your fever,” he said. “Drink up.”

  
“Did I fall asleep?” Jaskier asked, blinking slowly and looking around in confusion. “Where…where are we, Geralt? Oh, fuck, my head.”

  
Geralt sighed. “You are sick. You have a fever and you are confused. Drink up.” He was still holding the cup in front of Jaskier´s lips.

  
“What´s it?” Jaskier mumbled, eyes finally focusing on the steaming drink.

  
Geralt wondered if that´s what it´s like to have children. “It´s for your fever. Drink!”

  
“Okay, no need to get all grouchy…” Jaskier tried to take the cup from the Witcher, to hold it for himself, but his own hands were shaking too much.

  
Geralt patiently brought the cup to his friend´s lips. Jaskier took a few sips and coughed.

  
“Needs a bit of honey,” he said and made a face.

  
“Sorry, I only have onion.”

  
Jaskier managed a half-smile, but it quickly faded in a coughing fit. “Oh, shit.“ His face contorted in discomfort. “It hurts.”

  
Geralt frowned. “What? How bad?”

  
“Everything,” the bard answered. “Like I was kicked by a horse. Sorry, Roach.”

  
Ah. Geralt himself couldn´t get sick any longer and wasn´t really sure what flu symptoms felt like, but it seemed like that´s what the bard had contracted. He hoped it won´t get any worse.

  
“Drink some more,” he commanded and when Jaskier obeyed, he helped him to lie down again.

  
“Sleep,” he said and made himself comfortable on the ground next to Jaskier. “We´ll ride to the village in the morning. I´ll get the demon, you´ll rest in a proper bed.”

  
Jaskier curled up on his side so that he could look at Geralt. “Will you not leave?” His eyes were still bright with the fever and his cheeks flushed.

  
“No,” he said, willing his voice to sound soft and kind. It was hard. He wasn´t used to it. “I´ll be right here when you wake up.

  
Jaskier smiled a little and closed his eyes.

The tea helped for a while but couldn’t solve the problem entirely. Geralt nodded off and when he woke up again, to sounds of coughing and groaning, it was still dark.

  
The witcher reacted quickly. Crouched next to Jaskier, who was writhing in discomfort, and rested his hand against his forehead. It seemed worse than before.

  
“Jaskier,” he said, willing the bard to react, but his friend didn´t seem to hear him. He was looking at the witcher from half closed eyelids, but didn´t really see him. Every raspy breath reminded Geralt of their encounter with the djinn.

  
Grabbing Jaskier´s wrists, Geralt repeated his name. This time, the bard recognized him.

  
“Geralt,” he managed to breathe out, “I don´t want to die, please, I don´t want to die…”

  
Geralt smoothed the dark curls from his face. “You will not,” he said firmly and Jaskier believed him.

Geralt was a man of action. He was a problem solver. Where others would just stand and panic, Geralt would think on his feet, make one step after another. He was a witcher, after all. And a witcher prone to panic was a dead witcher.

  
He made Jaskier drink the rest of the herbal tea, warmed over on the fire and made him sit on the Roach, with the thin blanket over his shoulders. Geralt himself sat behind him, one arm wrapped around the bard´s waist, and they rode into the early morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, last chapter. Thank you for the support! :)

By the time they finally reached the village, the sun has rose above the horizon and Jaskier was a dead weight against Geralt´s chest. His breaths were short and laboured and his heart was beating too strong and too fast, as if it was aware of its imminent end and trying to make up for the time it will lose. 

  
“Where does the healer live?” Geralt yelled at the first person he saw upon entering the village and the man wordlessly pointed towards a house in the middle of the street. The look on Geralt´s face probably made him understand that he needs to be brief and clear. 

  
Geralt stopped Roach in front of the house. Jaskier fell into his arms and once Geralt settled him against his chest, he opened the door with a strong kick and burst inside. 

  
The room he entered was small and dark. It smelled of herbs and smoke and the ceiling was too low was Geralt to be able to stand upright. 

  
His cat eyes quickly scanned the room for the healer and then he saw a small woman sitting in the far corner of the room. She was cutting freshly picked herbs and there was a look of surprise and annoyance in her small, strict looking face. 

  
“Well, you could have knocked. I don´t like men kicking my door open, don´t care if they are witchers, or local cuckolds.” Her voice was surprisingly strong and clear for such a small woman. She stood up and approached Geralt. 

  
Taking a close look at Jaskier, she put a hand to his forehead and frowned. 

  
“Put him on the bed over there,” she motioned to a cot near the fire and then disappeared behind a rack full of various jars and bowls. “How long has he been like that?” She called after Geralt. 

  
“The fever started yesterday. He got worse during the night.” He kneeled next to Jaskier and held his hand. His friend was still not awake, but he was gasping for breath. “Can you help him?”

  
“Well, let´s see, shall we?” She reappeared from behind the shelves, armed with a small vial. “Make him sit up,” she told Geralt and rolled up her sleeves. 

  
“What is it for?” Geralt asked as she forced the vial´s contents down the bard´s throat. It smelled like mint. 

  
“To help him breathe,” she answered. “But the main problem here is the fever.” She pressed two fingers against Jaskier´s wrist. “Did you give him anything for it? I know you witchers have all sorts of elixirs…”

  
“I didn´t,” Geralt cut her short. “It would only make him worse.”

  
“That´s why I am asking.”

  
“I made him drink a concoction of yarrow and feverfew.”

  
She nodded. “That´s good,” she said. “But apparently not enough. We´ll have to use more drastic methods.”

  
Geralt eyed her suspiciously. “I am not letting you bleed him.”

  
“Excuse me, I am a serious healer, not some charlatan from under the rock.” She looked offended and then motioned to Jaskier. “Take him.”

Jaskier didn´t like being suddenly submerged in a tub full of cold water. He was immediately awake, trashing wildly and looking around, blue eyes open wide. 

  
“W-w-what happened?” he asked, teeth chattering, but more coherent than Geralt has seen him in hours. 

  
“You got sick,” Geralt answered simply, still holding Jaskier around his shoulders to make sure he didn’t slip under the water. “I took you to a healer.”

  
“Gods, I am cold.” Jaskier closed his eyed. He was beginning to shiver. 

  
The healer frowned and touched Jaskier cheek. “Just a while longer,” she said and turned to a small table with a mortar, herbs and various full and empty vials. 

  
Jaskier turned to Geralt. “Wh-who is she? P…please, tell me she is not another crazy witch.” 

  
The healer laughed. “It seems like your friend doesn´t have a lot of good experience with my kind,” she said. She finished grinding some herbs in the mortar and poured them into a tin pot which she put over the fire. 

  
Jaskier started to shiver even harder and pressed himself as close to Geralt as possible. The witcher tightened his hold around his shoulders, almost subconsciously.   
“Please, can I get him out now?” 

  
Once again, she took hold of Jaskier´s wrist and went still for a moment, feeling for his heartbeat. After a while, obviously satisfied, she nodded. “Take him back to the bed. There are blankets by the fireplace.” 

  
Before she could even finish her sentence, Geralt took the trembling bard out of the tub and hurried to the bed. Just as she said, the blankets were there, thick and woollen and warm and he wrapped them around his friend as tightly as he could. Soon, the healer was by his side with a steaming mug. She sat next to Jaskier and put it to his lips, waiting patiently for him to drink. Once he drank most of it, she stood up and let Geralt help Jaskier to lie down. The bard seemed sleepy and exhausted, but he was no longer burning up. The fever has finally broken. 

  
“Let him rest,” the healer said softly. “He needs it.”

  
Geralt just hummed in response, still fussing over the bard. 

  
“My name is Miroslava, by the way,” she said. “Not that you care. I have yet to meet a friendly witcher.”

  
“It´s Geralt,” he grunted. “He is Jaskier.”

  
“Grumpy as they get,” she said, more to herself than to Geralt. “But you are the first of your kind who seems to have a friend.”

  
Geralt wanted to say something. That the bard was not his friend, or that he was just someone who tagged along, someone he was now responsible for. Than he realized that it would be useless. He has been holding Jaskier´s hand and smoothing down his wet hair for the last couple of minutes. 

  
Miroslava laughed and there was no malice in it. 

  
“It will be a few days until he will be okay to travel again,” she said. “You can stay here until then. I´ll appreciate the company.”

  
“Thank you,” Geralt said, quietly. 

  
“I have a spare bedroom upstairs,” she said as she resumed what she was doing before Geralt burst into her house. “For when he is better. It has a bigger bed.” She winked. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yarrow is not only good for fever, but it makes wonders with period pain and it grows everywhere (at least in middle Europe).


End file.
